INKED 8: A Tattoo Shop Reverse Harem

“There’s this system that I think we should implement. It has a reasonable monthly fee and will really revolutionize how customers move through your organization.”

“Sounds awesome,” Carl says, already foraging in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. I’m stunned when he hands over the company credit card, but when I see the flicker of a smile passing over his lips, I get it. He’s desperate for help here and is more than happy for someone else to take on some of the work he struggles with. “Pay for whatever you need,” he adds.

“How about a decent coffee machine?” I say.

Kyla swivels quickly, finding me close behind her, my height no doubt causing me to loom large. The way her pupils swell at the sight of me is intoxicating, and I know I could get between her legs if I wanted to. It might take some work. I’m sure she’d try to put up some resistance, but she wouldn’t hold out for long. I might sound like an arrogant asshole, but it’s not that. Some people just have chemistry. It’s there, crackling in the air like a change in energy or a calling of chakras. Who the fuck knows?

What I’m certain of it that Carl would be against it.

“Forget about it,” Carl snaps. “But anything you need, Kyla.”

“Well, I was looking at the hardware we’ll need to support it.”

“Sounds good,” Carl says.

“Alrighty then.” Kyla retreats with a raised eyebrow. Maybe she was expecting to need to justify herself more, or maybe she just feels bad that I’m not going to get my coffee machine.

I hope it’s the latter.

When she’s back at reception, I step into the office. “That girl is going to get us get our shit together,” Carl says. “I have a good feeling.”

“I do too,” I say, but I’m not talking about work. There is something about Kyla that’s already under my skin. Her need to please is obvious need to please and there’s a spark I’ve seen in her eyes when I challenge and tease her. She’s that perfect mix of submissive with a bite of rebellion—exactly the kind of girl I love to tame.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Carl says, shaking his head.

“What am I thinking?”

“How good she’d look strapped to your bed.”

There’s no point in denying it. We’ve known each other too long. “She’d look pretty special with your handprint on her ass too.”

“Fuck,” Carl mutters, but I know his mind’s gone there. He’s looked at her nicely rounded butt and fantasized over what it would feel like to spank it. Men might be outwardly restrained, but inside our minds, it’s full-on fucking depravation. “We can’t go there,” he huffs, not concealing his disappointment. “We need her to want to work here. Fucking, heartbreak, and work are not compatible.”

“Sex and heartbreak don’t have to go hand in hand,” I remind him.

“For men, maybe. But for women, they’re close bedfellows.”

Maybe he’s right. Having Kyla working here makes things complicated, but I like messy. I like a challenge. I like pushing the boundaries and finding new limits. I like punching through resistance.

I was the firstborn. My mom always said that’s what made me the pioneer and the challenger.

“So Kyla’s off-limits,” I say, wanting to be clear.

“Let’s see how she fits in. Maybe she’ll like it here. Maybe she won’t.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then she’s fair game.” Carl nods, not realizing that he’s just set up a big reason for me to make Kyla’s life here difficult. If she quits, there will be nothing stopping me from bending her to my will: nothing stopping Carl either, or any of the men in this place.

She’s one woman, and we’re eight horny men circling her like vultures.

What would she say if she knew what we were thinking?

She’d probably run as fast as she could from us all.

Or maybe she’d like it.

6

KYLA

My first day at Ink Factor is a breeze. All my previous work experience tells me it shouldn’t be this easy to fit into a new place of work. I think back to my teacher training placement and how sad I felt when I realized that I’d trained in a role that didn’t suit me at all. Too much chaos. Not enough order. Being out of control just sent my nerves into a horrible buzzing state that made me want to claw off my own skin.

But here, everything is about order. Or at least, everything about my job.

The tattoo artists deal in the chaos of blacks and colors, riotous artwork, and more restrained designs. They’re animated and funny, filled with male boisterousness and sex appeal that has me flustering over everything when they’re around. But when they’re working, I can really focus.

Toward the end of the day, Kole disappears through the front door, appearing ten minutes later, pushing the door open with his back and holding a giant white cardboard box.